On Second Thought(67)

“How was your day?” she asked, pouring me some vino.

I put down my camera and sat at the soapstone counter. “It was okay,” I lied. “I had lunch with my mother-in-law at the club.” There’d been a line of people—a line—who wanted to talk and pay their respects. My cheek had been kissed so many times I had a headache from all the Estée Lauder perfume that seemed to be a requirement of female club members over sixty. “Eloise is...” My voice choked off.

“I can’t imagine how she’s coping.”

I shook my head. “She always says the right thing, she’s nice to everyone.” I hesitated. “But she doesn’t want to talk about Nathan. At least, not with me.”

“How’s Mr. Coburn?”

“Medicated. Drinking a lot. So we talked about nothing. The only safe topic is Miles and Atticus.”

“They’re so cute.”

Atticus resembled Nathan an awful lot. It was hard to look at him. I cleared my throat. “I went back to the house, and Mr. Coburn asked if we could blow up a picture of Nathan for their anniversary party. As a cutout, you know? He’d been drinking, and...”

Those little strangled noises were coming out of my throat. Not crying, no, that would be too normal. Just vocal chord spasms as the air tried to escape from my locked throat.

“Oh, honey.” My sister came around the counter and hugged me. Her dog whimpered, dragging his little baby blanket to me. Sweet puppy.

Last night, I’d had a dream about Nathan. We were hosting a party. I didn’t know anyone there, but it was our house, and as I went to find Nathan, I saw him heading for the cellar door. I knew in a flash that if he went through that door, he wouldn’t come back, that he’d cross to the other side. I called to him, and he turned and smiled, that sweet, sweet smile...and went in anyway. I tried to follow, but the door had disappeared, and everyone was telling me what a great party it was while I groped along the wall, trying to find a spring or latch so I could find Nathan and bring him back.

Ainsley was back on her side of the counter, checking the roast.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” I said, and her face lit up.

“Really? I feel like an idiot half the time.”

“You’re not. You’ve been fantastic, Ains.” Ollie, aware that someone other than himself was getting praise, put his paws against my legs. “And so have you, Ollie-Dollie,” I said, picking him up. He had the silkiest ears in the universe. I could well understand the value of therapy dogs.

“So what’s new with you?” I asked, dipping my finger in the wine and letting Ollie sniff it. Not his vintage, apparently, because he jumped down and trotted back to his blanket.

“Oh, let’s see. Judy came to see me at work today,” Ainsley said. “To beg me not to give up on Eric just yet. She thinks he’s got PTSD.”

I thought he had *-itis, personally. I’d seen a snippet of him on Good Morning America and hit Off so fast I nearly broke the remote. “What if he does come crawling back, Ainsley? Would you give it a shot?”

She didn’t answer right away, putting the spinach in the frying pan. “I never pictured a life without him,” she said, not looking at me. “I know we had a...retro kind of relationship, but it really was all I ever wanted. So I guess I’d try to forgive him, sure. He’d deserve that after eleven years, right? I mean, what else would I do? It’s not like I love my job. I was never the career people you and Sean are.”

“You were so good at NBC,” I said.

“You mean covering for America’s most lying newsman?”

“You can’t take the blame on that. You didn’t know.”

She was quiet for a minute. “Eric exaggerated on his blog, too.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

“You knew?”

I snorted. “Of course I did.”

“Do all men lie, do you think?” she asked.

“All people lie at one point or another.” I paused. “Dad lied to Mom for years.”

“Right.” She nudged the potatoes. “Did Nathan?”

I paused. “No. I don’t think so.”

“He was so nice.”

For a second, I imagined Nathan coming in here, wearing one of his beautiful suits, tossing his keys into the tasteful wooden bowl he had for the sole purpose of holding keys, and saying, Was? What do you mean, was? He’d kiss me and then go hug Ainsley and say something nice to her...and...and...

His face was growing blurry to me.

That horrible spike was back in my throat. I took another healthy sip of wine.

“What’s it like?” Ainsley asked, her pretty face kind. She still looked twelve to me.

I didn’t answer for a moment. It feels like someone peeled off my skin. Everything hurts or stings or bleeds. I don’t even feel like a person anymore, just a raw piece of meat that has to get out of bed.

Some things you just didn’t want to put into words. “It’s like being in a dream. Like I’ll wake up in my old apartment and think, ‘Wow, that felt so real!’”

“Does the group help?”

I’d gone twice now. “Yeah, it does, actually. Just knowing they’re alive. Leo’s really happy these days. Even LuAnn—you know, the one with the makeup and the Bronx accent? She’s heartbroken, but she’s still laughing. So. Maybe I’ll get there.”